


Pas de Deux

by elektratios



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Art, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Banter, Begging, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Classical Music, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cultural References, Emotions, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Food, Hedonism, Light Angst, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Pillow Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Religious Language, Romance, Sarcasm, Senses, Teasing, Vices and Virtues, Yearning, and theres light underlying angst but of course there is, and this is the result soooooo, aziraphale swears in the bonus scene you're welcome, aziraphale's pov, bastard Crowley, bastard aziraphale, do you ever yearn?, his obsession with hedonism and sensation and savouring every moment', honestly comrades distinguished guests and those of you with sentience, i can assure you that this is achingly tender tooth rotting stuff, i crave. constant craving, i mean this is lightly touched upon, it also has humour in it so theres that, it's from azi's pov and i basically went 'how can i portray, mentioned anyway, they really love each other so much okay, this is the obligatory post apocalypse pre bodyswap fic, yeah theres angst but really it's not the focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 17:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elektratios/pseuds/elektratios
Summary: “Crowley, I want nothing more in this world than you.”Crowley was shocked into silence.What Aziraphale didn’t say was‘This may be all the time we have left.’





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soongtypeprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/gifts).



> Title is taken from Tchaikovsky's ballet of the same name in The Nutcracker, and means 'a dance for two people'. 
> 
> I think this is possibly my favourite fic I've written so far.
> 
> I don't own the characters.

The corridor of was the only part of Crowley’s flat that actually seemed _alive_. The rest of the flat was so bland, and it wasn’t just because of the lack of furnishings or the monochromatic colour scheme. There was nothing of Crowley in it, there was no flash, no pizzaz. It made Aziraphale feel rather cold. 

But here, in the corridor, here Aziraphale could feel Crowley. The plants lining the walls and the floor were so verdant and lustrous, weaving a canopy of vibrant greenery around him and above his head. The leaves were so green, in fact, that it was almost unnatural, and every one of them was spotless. Aziraphale stretched out a hand to caress a particularly inviting leaf, and he could have sworn the plant shrank back at his approach, although it softened under his touch. 

Aziraphale sighed. Someone capable of blooming such beauty shouldn’t live in such an indifferent, sterile environment. 

He turned towards the archway which led to Crowley’s study. He’d fled there earlier in the evening, after they’d inhaled half a bottle of wine each, and before Aziraphale had dispelled his back into the bottle. 

When they’d arrived at the flat, Aziraphale had lain his overcoat over the arm of Crowley’s chic, damnably uncomfortable sofa, and the two of them had sat there, silently drinking the wine and trying not to think about the day ahead. At least that’s what he assumed Crowley had been thinking, but Aziraphale…no Aziraphale had been trying to decide how to introduce Agnes Nutter’s last prophecy.

In his experience, it was always best to take the words of a true prophet at face value, and ‘choofe your faces’ and ‘fyre’ didn’t leave much room for interpretation. He’d explained this in as many words to Crowley, but he’d vehemently protested anyway. Aziraphale knew he would. He’d planned several counter arguments during the bus journey from Tadfield, and he’d calmly laid them out one by one as Crowley anxiously paced in front of him. 

He’d said that it was too dangerous, too risky. They couldn’t know for sure what their respective offices had lined up for them. Most of all he couldn’t let Aziraphale go down to hell and face whatever creative torture they’d cooked up in their twisted minds that night. 

But Aziraphale knew, he _knew_ that this was their best chance. Did Crowley have a better idea? If they allowed Heaven and Hell to drag them off in their own bodies then they would both surely die; it was indisputable. But at least this way they had a chance. 

Crowley had grown quiet at that. He’d stared at Aziraphale helplessly, his arms by his sides and palms out, conceding defeat. His mouth was twisted in fear, and Aziraphale fervently wished he could see his eyes but as always they were shadowed behind his dark sunglasses. 

“I can’t lose you again.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth. He went to speak, but the words stopped in his throat, soured on his tongue. Crowley’s voice had broken and he was shaking his head, and Aziraphale was suddenly back in the bar, watching Crowley cry. 

_I lost my best friend._

Aziraphale couldn’t answer then, and he couldn’t answer now. 

Crowley scrubbed a hand over his face, nodded, and swept out of the room.

\---

It was a long time before Aziraphale got up from that cold sofa in that cold room. He knew Crowley would be in his office, waiting anxiously for a communication from Hell. He was terrified of his people, even if he didn’t admit it. 

As he expected, when he entered Crowley’s office, he found the demon slouched back in his chair (throne), watching the television. 

“Any word?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Nada. I’ve tried every channel. If my people are planning something then they’re keeping schtum about it.”

“Mine too.” 

Aziraphale approached Crowley, trailing his fingers over the desk and tapping nervously against the astronomy books strewn across the surface. 

“Yes, but my people usually don’t hesitate to gloat. They like to describe _in detail_ exactly what punishment they want to exact on you. Keeps you looking over your shoulder.” Crowley finally let his head loll round to look at Aziraphale, who stopped a couple of feet from him. “Torn apart by hellhounds is a classic, of course. I expect they’ll want to make an example of me though, come up with something really agonising to really make the right impression…”

Crowley trailed off. Aziraphale had stepped in close, bracketed by Crowley’s impossibly long legs, and Crowley was looking questioningly up at him from his mock throne, head tilted right back. 

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek as he steeled his nerves. He’d made up his mind, and it was now or never. This was the turning point, and even the risk of rejection wasn’t enough to stop him. Crowley’s lips were parted, and there was a deep furrow where his eyebrows had drawn together. 

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face with both of his hands, feeling the scratch of stubble against his palms. He inhaled sharply. He’d touched Crowley before, of course, but never like this, never cupped his face in his hands, run his thumb over a sharp cheekbone, ghosted the pad of it against his lower lip. Crowley had stopped breathing, and Aziraphale saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. 

Aziraphale slid Crowley’s glasses off his nose and carefully laid them on the desk. His eyes. Oh God his eyes were beautiful. The yellow blazed from them, ringed around Crowley’s dilated pupils. Crowley’s lower lip quivered and his hands gripped the armrests of the throne and God forgive him but Aziraphale touched him and it felt like a sacrament. Crowley breathed his name and it sounded like benediction. 

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath, and grasped Crowley’s shoulder, urging him to sit up straight, and Crowley followed him like he would die if he didn’t, like Aziraphale’s touch was the only anchor he had. Aziraphale pressed in until Crowley’s thighs were wrapped around his, sliding his hand back into Crowley’s hair, and brushing his thumb against his cheekbone. He leaned down, and Crowley’s head tilted back, and the meeting of their lips was the most delicate embrace. Crowley exhaled a disbelieving noise, so quietly that Aziraphale barely heard it, and suddenly he was sliding his hands up and clutching at the swell of Aziraphale’s hip to hold him closer. One arm pushed against the length of his back and cupped his neck to pull him down into another kiss, and Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s yearning, his anxiety at the thought of letting him go. 

The kiss felt like a joining, like finally slotting together the last two pieces of an infinite jigsaw puzzle. Crowley’s lips were so soft against his, and when he parted them his mouth was warm and his exhalations shaky between them. Aziraphale bit at Crowley’s bottom lip, dragging his teeth along the delicate skin and swallowing the high keening sound at the back of the demon’s throat. Crowley couldn’t stop touching him, and Aziraphale’s kisses grew fervent as he felt a restless hand squeeze between them to press against the swell of his belly, glide up to rest over his heart, and wrap around his elbow when Crowley was overcome before dropping back down to the small of his back and pressing them together. 

Heavens above…the sensations, _the textures._ The slide of lips and tongues was gorgeous, but the pressure of Crowley’s solid arm against his back grounded him, and the scritch of Crowley’s nails through the downy curls at the nape of his neck raised goose bumps on his arms. He skimmed his hand down Crowley’s side and gripped the meat of his thigh, holding it firmly against his hip. Crowley’s back was arched as he reached up and Aziraphale could feel the knot of his necklace digging into his chest and his belt hard and unforgiving against his belly, and his pocket chain caught against the buttons of Crowley’s waistcoat and tied them together. 

He broke the kiss, panting for air that he didn’t need. Crowley’s thighs tensed compulsively around his hips and he felt snakeskin shoes hit the backs of his ankles to stop him moving away.

“Oh, Crowley, I-“ 

Aziraphale shook his head. It was as if a dam had broken as soon as he acknowledged his feelings, Crowley’s feelings. He could barely begin to make sense of it all. He did pull back then, giving them a few inches of breathing space and allowing him to meet Crowley’s wide eyes. 

“Oh, my dear boy.” Aziraphale brushed his hand down from Crowley’s jaw to rest against his overheated neck. This time he felt the bob of Crowley’s throat against his thumb, and he was overcome with adoration for the demon. The air was so urgently charged between them that he felt his hair must be sticking up on end. Crowley was unnaturally still, and his eyes were piercing, looking frantically between his as if to determine whether he was going to pull away. Oh…he really had kept his love waiting. 

Shame wasn’t something Aziraphale was accustomed to feeling, and he felt the heat it brought to his cheeks under Crowley’s desperate gaze. He glanced down, and he saw how they fit together, and he felt Crowley’s warm body curved up out of the chair and pressed against him, and Aziraphale knew they were on a precipice and he had to decide which way they’d fall. 

Aziraphale stroked his thumb over Crowley’s neck a final time before fingering the soft material of his necklace and following it down to his chest. He mirrored Crowley’s actions from before and rested it over his heart, revelling in the soft pulse of it under his shirt, and the rise and fall of Crowley’s chest as he shakily inhaled. He had decided. 

He recaptured Crowley’s lips and pulled him forward so he could slide his hands under Crowley’s blazer and push it from his shoulders, and Crowley sprang into action, shedding it like an old skin and tossing it aside before tightly wrapping his arms back around Aziraphale. 

“Are you sure?” Crowley gasped out, speaking for the first time in what seemed like ages. His voice was rough with emotion, but Aziraphale could see the hope blooming on his face and he felt as if his own heart would burst in response. 

Aziraphale’s face broke out into a smile. He was in love with Crowley. He’d known it for a long time, but he’d never spoken it aloud, never allowed himself to think the words. He loved all of God’s creations, everything She had moulded and breathed life into, but with Crowley She seemed to have imbued him with the essence of love itself. 

“Yes Crowley, of course.” 

“Because we can wait, Angel.” Crowley spat out the words quickly, as if trying to get them out before they jumped back down his throat and choked him. “If this is too fast, you only have to say, and we can stop, we can think about it another time-“

“Crowley, I want nothing more in this world than you.”

Crowley was shocked into silence. 

What Aziraphale didn’t say was _‘This may be all the time we have left.’_

Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s cheek, and watched, enraptured, as the most beautiful grin graced the demon’s face. He finally relaxed his tight grip on Aziraphale, and something seemed to settle in his eyes.

Aziraphale couldn’t wait any longer. He stepped back and Crowley got to his feet in a sinuous movement. Crowley took his hand and laced their fingers together and the corner of his mouth twitched in a cheeky smile. 

“Bedroom, Angel?”

Aziraphale blushed and nodded his head eagerly. Now that he’d had a taste of kissing Crowley he was impatient to experience more pleasure. He thought about the heat and pressure of Crowley’s thighs wrapped around him, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself moaning aloud. He wrapped Crowley’s ridiculous necklace around his fist and tugged him down into another luxurious kiss. When they broke apart Crowley looked like he wanted to devour him, and it sent a shiver running down his spine. 

When they reached the threshold to Crowley’s bedroom Aziraphale pulled Crowley around to face him, and pushed him back towards the bed. He took his time undoing the buttons of Crowley’s waistcoat, savouring the smooth, cool ridges of the buttons under his fingertips and feeling them slip through the holes, letting the waistcoat give way under his fingers. He sighed and pressed his palms flat against Crowley’s chest. Curiously, he drew his thumb over the peak of a nipple, and Crowley pulled him frantically into a kiss in response. 

“Angel,” he groaned between kisses, “we can just make our clothes disappear, you know.” He raised his hand to click his fingers in that dramatic way of his, but Aziraphale slapped his hand away instantly. 

“I want to unwrap you, my dear.” 

Crowley panted against him, letting his forehead fall forwards against Aziraphale’s in frustration. Aziraphale slipped his hands to the small of Crowley’s back and teased his way under Crowley’s jeans, stroking the soft skin there and dragging Crowley’s t-shirt up from where it had been tucked tight. He let his nails drag against the skin.

Crowley groaned. He sounded almost wounded, Aziraphale thought. He hushed him softly, gentling his hands against Crowley’s back, but then he yelped in surprise when Crowley reached down and grabbed two generous handfuls of his arse, pulling him forward and grinding them together determinedly. 

“Angel, please. Haven’t I waited long enough?” 

Aziraphale frowned. 

“Now don’t start that!” he admonished, pushing Crowley away. “You’ll get what you want, but _I_ am going to savour it.”

Crowley groaned again and raised his hands in the air before flopping dramatically down on the bed. He kicked his shoes off as he went and then toed off his socks. His bright-eyed gaze was still fixed firmly on Aziraphale.

Huffing, Aziraphale turned to his own clothes, fastidiously removing his pocket watch and chain and setting them on a convenient side table. He then unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat one by one, letting gravity slide it from his arms. 

“Leave the bow tie,” Crowley requested. Although, to Aziraphale’s ears it sounded more like a demand. 

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “I absolutely shan’t,” he replied, affronted. 

As he expertly unthreaded the bow tie and slid it out from under his collar, he gazed at Crowley on the bed. He was a picture. He was sprawled back artfully against the pillows, with eyes half-lidded and hair in wonderful disarray. A lock of it drooped down by his eye, and Aziraphale’s hands itched to brush it back into place. He licked his lips, following the line of Crowley’s body down. His waistcoat was hanging off him, positively dripping off his torso, and his t shirt was rumpled and rucked up to display a strip of skin so enticing that Aziraphale’s mouth went dry. He felt that he could look at Crowley forever, that he’d never be able to drink his fill, to sate his appetite. But he longed to run his tongue along that dusting of dark hair under his navel, to hold his hips down and wrestle his belt open. God…oh God help him, he _wanted._

Aziraphale knew he had his foibles, he knew that he often indulged; Pride, Gluttony, and sometimes his studied apathy danced on the boundaries of Sloth, but he never before knew the enticement of _Lust._

His fingers were suddenly shaking and he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. 

“Are you giving me a strip-tease, Angel?” Crowley teased valiantly. He made a good show of it, but the arousal flared in his eyes and he was beginning to hiss his sibilants. 

Aziraphale felt the heat rise in his cheeks again, and he hurriedly dropped his shirt to the floor, leaving him half bared to Crowley’s covetous eyes. 

Crowley groaned when Aziraphale’s hands fell to his trousers, and he shoved a hand between his own legs, artfully covering the bulge in his jeans. Aziraphale was stunned for a second, and he swallowed as Crowley casually crossed his legs, holding himself up on the pillows with one arm. His body was one lithe, studied line in Aziraphale’s gaze, and…oh. _Oh._ That devil. 

“Manet’s Olympia. Crowley, dear, _really._ ” Aziraphale shook his head fondly.

“Would you rather paint me like one of your French girls, Angel?” Crowley quipped. He lay himself back again and arranged his arms so they framed his face. The tips of his fingers brushed the stray lock of hair. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. He felt like his love was too vast to contain, like he must be radiating it for miles for everyone to see. 

“Oh. Oh, no, I don’t think we need to go that far. It says rather a lot that you chose two famously risqué pieces to emulate.”

“Oh really? What does it say about me?” 

Crowley was grinning again, rather ruining the seductive effect. 

“You’re scandalous. A seductive temptress.”

“Is the temptation working, Angel?” 

Crowley delicately brushed the rogue lock of hair out of his eyes.

Aziraphale considered for a moment. Crowley was bating him, he knew, but there was a thready whine concealed in Crowley’s tone, and the demon’s legs kept shifting restlessly against the bed. Oh, he was so very wound up. 

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I rather think it is.” 

He couldn’t help himself. He was drawn forward to the bed, and as soon as he advanced Crowley’s face lit-up and he truly looked like the cat who got the cream. Well, the snake anyway, but Aziraphale supposed a predator was a predator. And predatory Crowley was. It seemed that a dam had not only broken inside Aziraphale, but Crowley too, and he threw himself into the task with verve. Aziraphale found himself tugged down sharply onto the bed and wrapped up in Crowley. The hedonist in him whined, and he moaned helplessly at the onslaught. 

“Oh, oh _Crowley._ ” He bit back the cut off sounds which crowded his mouth, and locked Crowley’s mouth back into a fierce kiss. Oh, it was divine. Crowley was over him, his thigh pressed firmly against his crotch and his hips hitched in a staccato against him. Aziraphale’s spine felt like a live wire and with each thrust a shock ripped through him and stunned his brain into static. He patted Crowley’s flank desperately, needing a reprieve, needing to _breathe._

Crowley smacked a hand down on the pillows. “Angel, _please,_ I can’t go any slower than this. Please, just touch me, just-“ 

He sat back and wrestled with his clothing, whipping his waistcoat, necklace, and t-shirt onto the floor in quick succession. 

“Patience is-“

 _“Overrated!”_ Crowley growled. 

Aziraphale propped himself up on one arm, challenging Crowley’s gaze. “Now, look here. You may be willing to settle for a quick fumble in the dark, as it were, but may I remind you that is entirely new to me, and as I’ve _already said,_ I intend to savour every moment!” 

Crowley slapped his hands down into the soft give of Aziraphale’s chest then, looming over him with his teeth bared. 

_“Aziraphale!”_

Aziraphale shook his head. He gripped Crowley’s thighs tight where they straddled him. 

“Now, my dear. You do know that you’re not remotely terrifying, yes? Well then, I think this would all go a lot more smoothly if you just-“

“Lie back and think of Heaven?” Crowley sneered. 

Aziraphale huffed. 

“Crowley,” he murmured soberly, dropping his gaze. “I want- I _need_ to make this count.” He swallowed, and rubbed his thumbs in circles on Crowley’s inner thighs. “I want nothing more than to make you fall apart, and for you, _well,_ for you to bring me pleasure too. Please…indulge me?”

He waited a second, and then looked up at Crowley again to see the effect of his temptation. Demons and angels were from the same original stock, after all. 

Crowley had his eyes shut and he was hanging his head. Aziraphale smiled beatifically. 

“Right. Right, fine then!” Crowley abruptly flopped over onto the bed next to Aziraphale. “Take as much time as you like, Angel, but just know that when I spontaneously discorporate, it’s on your head! When they drag me back down to hell and feed me to the hell hounds you think about that-!”

“Oh Crowley, dear, _do shut up.”_

Aziraphale dragged him back into a kiss, and Crowley sank right back into it. Gosh, he was quite sure they could kiss for an age and he wouldn’t get over the addictive sensation. Their lips were so wet and swollen, and Aziraphale silently blessed humanity. They really thought up the most wonderful things. 

He wanted to feast on Crowley. The arch of his neck was so blessedly sinful. Aziraphale slipped his leg over Crowley’s thighs and leaned over him to press his mouth there, catching his skin between his teeth and revelling in the taste of residual cologne. Blood bloomed under the attention, and Crowley’s hands buried themselves in Aziraphale’s hair, and oh, oh he _loved_ human bodies. The sheer physicality of them, the blood that pumped through them and the soft boundary of skin that could be transformed, expanded, fed and clothed and adored. And how it felt to press his own body against another’s, against _Crowley’s,_ with the demon’s skinny chest and wiry arms wrapped around him, and how his own flesh cushioned those sharp lines and angles and smoothed them together against the bed. 

Crowley was rocking his hips up again and letting out the most delightful whimpers, but he was being so patient. Aziraphale could feel his hips shifting against the soft silky sheets and heard his feet skidding against the covers and oh, oh how he loved Crowley. Aziraphale ran his palm up Crowley’s side, feeling the jump in his muscles at the waist, the solid ridges of his ribs, the peaked nipple he’d teased before, and he groaned. He ducked down and took it into his mouth, and Crowley’s fingers tightened in his hair as he choked back a desperate moan. 

_“Aziraphale._ Do you think perhaps you’ve savoured this moment _enough?”_

Aziraphale caught the nipple between his teeth and _pulled,_ stretching the blushing skin _up._ Crowley yelled and his hips instantly snapped up. His hands fluttered uselessly in Aziraphale’s hair and then he dropped them to his own belt, urgently snapping the ornate snake-head clasp open. 

“Aziraphale, you have to _touch_ me-“

Aziraphale looked up at him, unimpressed.

“Oh? I thought that’s what I was doing?” 

He idly dipped his thumb into Crowley’s navel and pulled at the skin. It was simply delightful how Crowley’s body moulded under his palm, stretched with his every whim. 

“Touch my _cock,_ Angel!”

Aziraphale watched Crowley’s long fingers work the button of his jeans open and drag down the zip, relishing the groan of relief Crowley voiced. He felt his own cock twitch in his trousers, the pressure of Crowley’s against it, and he bit his lip. Even so, he firmly took Crowley’s hands in his own before he could shove his jeans down and he pressed sweet kisses to his palms. 

“Aziraphale, you’re _killing me._ I know you’re a hedonist, but you’re not cruel. You must be _aching,_ Angel. I can feel your cock and you’re so hard-“

“Good things come to those-“

 _“Stop_ spouting proverbs!” Crowley snatched his hand back, planting one of the bed and levering himself up. The other cupped Aziraphale jaw and the thumb slid into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. Aziraphale groaned, and impulsively sealed his lips around it. Crowley’s pupils were so dilated the yellow was barely visible. Aziraphale thought he could drown in their depths. 

“Right. Look. If you aren’t going to touch me, at least let me make you feel good.” 

Suddenly there was a palm pressed to Aziraphale’s cock, rubbing and cupping him and squeezing. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut and he gasped, releasing Crowley’s thumb.

“Crowley…”

“You want to feel everything, savour everything, I know, and I can make you feel so good, Angel, just let me show you, just _let me._ ” As he spoke, Crowley rolled him over, pressing Aziraphale back into the soft sheets, and Aziraphale was lost to him. Crowley was panting and flushed above him, a blush painted across his pale neck and chest and his fiery hair mussed around his eyes. And his eyes, oh, they were so aroused, so earnest, begging for Aziraphale to take pity on him. 

“Yes. _Yes,_ Crowley.” 

Crowley grinned, and he dove to take Aziraphale’s lips into a rough, biting kiss. His hands near split Aziraphale’s trousers apart when he undid them and dragged them down Aziraphale’s legs, shoving his shoes and socks off as he went. Crowley pushed his thighs apart and slithered between them, nuzzling at his cock through his briefs. Aziraphale whined shamelessly. 

“Oh, Crowley, are you? Are you going to take it in your mouth?” 

Crowley’s eyes flicked up and his tongue snaked out from his upturned lips. He licked a slow, wet stripe over Aziraphale’s briefs and with a groan Aziraphale’s hands flew to his hair, catching and _tugging_ in it. 

Crowley gasped and rubbed his own cock against the mattress as he buried his face in the crease of Aziraphale’s thigh. 

“Yes!” He nodded frantically, pulling against Aziraphale’s fingers. _“Yes, Angel._ I’m going to _‘take it in my mouth’.”_

“Oh, darling, you’re wonderful.”

Crowley simply hummed in response, and he discarded Aziraphale’s underwear. Aziraphale was startled at the sight. The relief was immense, but his cock _ached_ for Crowley’s touch, for the wet warmth of his mouth, and it was red and damp at the head and Aziraphale couldn’t help but reach for it, wrap his palm around it and slide his thumb through the wetness. 

“Crowley…Crowley this is _glorious.”_

Aziraphale caught Crowley’s eyes and the demon looked simply _wrecked._ Crowley’s face was so close to Aziraphale’s cock that he could feel his hot damp breath against him and his cock twitched in anticipation. 

Abruptly, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s thigh, fingers pressing deep into the soft flesh, and he spread it and lifted it over his shoulder as he took him into his mouth. 

Aziraphale moaned shamelessly, and his fingers skittered over Crowley’s shoulders, cupped his neck, stroked his ear. He reached down and caught Crowley’s free hand in his own and Crowley squeezed his fingers, twisting them together and anchoring Aziraphale even as he felt like his soul was bleeding through the borders of his corporation. 

“My dear, my dear your mouth, you feel exquisite, I, I, oh, I, ah, _Crowley!”_

Aziraphale had thrown his head back at the first touch of Crowley’s lips around the head of his cock, but he looked down now, saw the flutter of Crowley’s eyelashes and the slickness of his lips, and the heat was incredible, it was awesome, in the way that things are sometimes too vast to be comprehended. He quivered and twitched at the texture of Crowley’s tongue flat against the vein on the underside of his cock and he whined when Crowley slid all the way down, holding him tight in his mouth and _sucking._

He felt like he could weep. Every muscle in his body was tense and seemed to vibrate with relentless energy. His stomach twitched, and as Crowley shifted his position his nose pressed against his belly. Just that minor contact, that gentle nudge, caused him to gasp as affection for the demon overcame him again. He wanted to tell Crowley that he loved him; that he adored him, and he would, he _would,_ but he felt it wasn’t best to say such a thing when in the throes of Lust. 

“You’re so good to me, my dear boy. Oh, look at you, you wonderful, wonderful thing.” And Crowley really was wonderful, setting himself to the task so diligently, ravishing Aziraphale so thoroughly. He bobbed his head and hummed in response and Aziraphale couldn’t stop moaning. He couldn’t stop, he had to let the noise out or his soul would expand through his body, he knew it. 

Aziraphale tried to thrust up into that inviting heat but Crowley’s hand tightened on the outside of his thigh, pressing it into his shoulder and holding him firm. His fingers dug deep into the pale flesh, creating four perfectly sloped divots in the pale skin. Aziraphale was sent back to 1622, Italy, marvelling at Bernini’s _Proserpina_ at its first unveiling. The sculpture was awesome, in that same infinite way, and the story was terrible, yes, it was _terrible,_ but Aziraphale had been transfixed by the delicacy of Proserpina’s flesh yielding under Pluto’s grasp. It was beautiful, and Aziraphale yielded to Crowley in kind. He’d let Crowley consume him, if he would. 

Crowley moaned around Aziraphale’s cock again, and drew back to the tip, winding his tongue around the head and teasing at the sensitive nerves. His other hand pulled away from Aziraphale’s and cupped his balls, rolling them in his palm. He pulled off with a pop. 

“Are you savouring this, Angel?” he asked cheekily, and his voice was rough and it sent sparks down Aziraphale’s spine. 

He couldn’t help but giggle. “I rather think you’re the one savouring this, my dear.” 

Crowley huffed, and he bent down again. Aziraphale waited in anticipation for that wet heat to wrap around him but instead Crowley shifted, and his thumb brushed against Aziraphale’s inner thigh. He quivered at the touch. He had no idea his thighs were so sensitive. Aziraphale looked down quizzically, just in time to see Crowley duck and press a kiss against the skin, and then dig his teeth in and suck. Aziraphale jerked at the sharp pain, and heat pooled low in his belly, making his cock twitch. 

He wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come out. He could only gasp, bewildered, captivated, as Crowley pressed sucking kisses down his thigh, and slid his hand to cradle the crook of his knee. His other thumb brushed against his balls as if to remind Aziraphale that it was there, and Aziraphale melted back into the sheets, feeling like a jelly sweating in the blazing sun. 

“Oh…I don’t know how much longer I can last, Crowley. I don’t…I think, if you wouldn’t mind, could you, could you suck me again?” 

Aziraphale felt a bead of pre-come ooze out and slip down his cock. He fisted his hands in the silken sheets. 

_“Please,_ Crowley.”

And then Crowley’s lips were around him again and his tongue was lapping up the precome, and sliding against the slit of his cock, and Aziraphale cried out at the sharp sensation, baring his neck and tugging at the sheets, and Crowley’s fingers pushed between his cheeks and stroked over his hole and-

And Aziraphale was coming. Oh, he was coming. He’d read about it thousands of times in literature of course, heard of it in the spoken word, but oh to _experience it._ It really was like fireworks were exploding behind his eyes. The tension in his limbs was impossible and his back arched right off the bed as his cock jerked in Crowley’s mouth. And Crowley, oh Crowley just kept sucking, moaning around Aziraphale’s cock and taking him deeper, and Aziraphale felt as if his soul had melted into carbonated slurry, crackling and popping and fizzing as he shook apart under Crowley’s hands. 

He whimpered, and he jerked, and he threw his hand up behind his head to grab at the headboard desperately. Crowley’s hands were under him then, cradling his buttocks and his waist and holding him there on the edge until it was too much, too sensitive, and Aziraphale was tapping his elbow to stop him. 

“Stop, stop, that’s, that’s too much, I can’t, I- _oh.”_

Oh. 

He slumped back against the bed. 

He was still shaking. He couldn’t stop it. His legs quivered and twitched as Crowley gently let them drop, and Aziraphale’s hips jerked with aftershocks. Oh it was exquisite. He whimpered with the rush of endorphins that flooded his body, and he let the back of his hand fall against his forehead to block out the light of the room. 

After a few minutes his breathing slowed. He still felt shaky, thrumming like a live wire, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to move his legs even if She herself descended from Heaven and commanded it. 

His hand flopped down onto the pillow, and he opened his eyes with a sigh. His other hand reached out blindly, searching for Crowley’s, and it was soon taken in hand and Crowley’s thumbs gently massaged his palm. 

“Back with me, Angel?” 

Aziraphale turned his head, and met Crowley’s salacious grin. 

“No need to gloat.” His voice held no malice, and he smiled at Crowley adoringly. 

“Oh there is, seeing as I just gave you the best orgasm of your life.”

“It’s the _only_ orgasm of my life, Crowley.” 

Crowley grinned. 

“It really was wonderful, dear.”

 _“Don’t_ say thank you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, my darling, I think you really have waited quite long enough.” 

Crowley licked his lips, and he spread his arms wide, palms out in invitation. 

He was kneeling on the bed next to Aziraphale. He looked a sight. His lips were swollen and red, and his hair was messier than Aziraphale had ever seen it. There was a smear at the corner of his mouth which Aziraphale expected was his own come, and he blushed. Crowley’s skin tight jeans were still on and trapping his hard cock. Aziraphale imagined that he must be achingly hard by now, and he ought to take pity on him. 

He urged Crowley down next to him and gently swiped the come from his cheek. He considered it for a second, and then popped his thumb in his mouth to suck it off. It was surprisingly salty, and not at all how Aziraphale expected it to taste, but he closed his eyes and savoured it like he had everything else. Crowley groaned and clutched at Aziraphale arm, pushing down his jeans with his other hand. 

“Aziraphale, I’m begging you, you _can’t_ tease me now.”

“I assure you, dear, I don’t intend to.”

Aziraphale drew him into a kiss and Crowley sighed into it. The, well, the _blowjob_ had been divine, but Aziraphale had missed the intimacy of kissing Crowley. He pushed his hand down to Crowley’s jeans and helped him peel them off his impossibly long legs. 

“I’m sure underwear has been customary for a long time now,” he teased.

“Not in those jeans, Angel, trust me.”

Aziraphale kissed him on the nose, and took him in hand. 

_“Aziraphale,”_ Crowley whined. And it was a whine. His voice was high and thready, and his nails dug sharply into Aziraphale’s arms. 

It was different, holding Crowley’s cock. With his own his hand fit naturally around it, and he instantly knew what would make him shake, make his toes curl. But now, he felt rather unsure. He gripped it firmly, and stroked the length of him. He kissed Crowley again, each breathy pant like a gift against his lips, and brushed the head of Crowley’s cock with his thumb like he had done to his own. 

Oh, but Crowley was so _responsive._ When something felt good he would whine quietly into Aziraphale’s neck, or tilt his head back and his eyelashes would flutter just so, and if Aziraphale’s thumb caught the ridge at the head of his cock it would twitch under his hand as if begging for more. 

“Crowley, tell me what you like.”

“Uh. Uh, _Angel._ This is good. It’s brilliant.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s back arched, spellbound. 

“Is it enough? Do you want me to, well, to give you a blowjob?” 

Crowley huffed a laugh but shook his head. 

“No, I’m too – too far gone, just keep- _ah_ \- keep doing _that!”_

Crowley moaned, low and deep, and his eyes lazily fell open. His lips twisted up when their gazes met and for a moment Aziraphale was struck with the realisation that Crowley might cry. 

“My dear…?”

It was like another dam had broken. Now that Crowley was talking, he couldn’t stop.

“I just, I, I never thought you’d…that we’d get to this point,” Crowley closed his eyes again and bit hard on his lip as Aziraphale spread his precome down his cock. He’d drawn a tiny bit of blood, and Aziraphale oh so gently kissed it away. “Oh, Angel, I never imagined this. I mean, I imagined it, but it never seemed possible, you know, and I’ve wanted you for _so long.”_ Crowley’s breath hitched at this, and Aziraphale’s heart swelled. 

“Crowley, oh my darling, please forgive me.” 

Crowley blinked and he laughed slightly hysterically at the notion. 

“You’ve got it all turned around, Angel.” 

Aziraphale brushed his cheekbone with his free hand and pressed him back, kissing him deeply. He took Crowley’s bottom lip between his own and ran his tongue over it. He slipped his tongue between Crowley’s lips, moaning into his mouth and tasting himself on Crowley’s tongue. Their heads were tilted, mouths slotted together, and noses squashed against cheeks, and Aziraphale thought that this was the single most divine moment of his existence. 

He stroked Crowley faster, experimentally twisted his wrist at the head, and Crowley broke away from the kiss in with a choked moan. He was really shaking now, and Aziraphale could feel the tension corded through his body, the restless movement of Crowley’s legs as he slipped one over Aziraphale’s thigh to bring them closer together. 

“I’ve wanted you too, my dear. For so long. I’m so utterly sorry that I’ve kept you waiting.” 

“Don’t, Aziraphale. Don’t. It doesn’t matter. It-“ 

Crowley let out a sound that can only be described as a quiet scream. He squirmed under Aziraphale’s hand, trying to thrust up into his fist, to press their bodies even close together. Aziraphale shifted Crowley over him so he could slide his arm around the demon and hold him tight. 

“Oh Crowley, you should see yourself. You’re magnificent.”

Crowley whimpered and tucked his head into Aziraphale’s shoulder, hiding his face. 

“My dear, you’ve looked after me so well. You’re so good for me, Crowley.”

Crowley moaned Aziraphale’s name and shuddered against him, and Aziraphale could feel that he was almost there. His cock was so hard and so hot and Aziraphale’s hand was slick with pre-come. 

“Come on, Crowley. I want to see you fall apart. I’ve got you.”

Crowley frantically tried to kiss Aziraphale again, but he couldn’t for the moans that demanded he voice them. 

“Aziraphale, I’m almost there, I’m, oh, _Angel-“_

“Oh, my love, you’re radiant.”

Crowley gasped, and he bucked into Aziraphale’s hand, and he was coming almost silently, jerking and shaking apart, and Aziraphale pulled him close and kissed his face, his eyelids, the corner of his parted lips, until Crowley heaved a gasping breath. 

“Don’t stop, Angel, _please,_ keep – _keep going.”_

Aziraphale did as he was bid, and he kissed Crowley properly then, thoroughly working every last achingly beautiful moan and shudder from the demon until he was entirely spent, and draped bonelessly over him. 

They lay there together for a few minutes, and Aziraphale spent the whole time in absolute wonder. Crowley face was tucked into his neck and he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, a testament to their exertion. Aziraphale couldn’t help but glide his fingers down the curve of his back, tracing the knobs of his spine until he reached the soft swell of Crowley’s buttocks. Crowley was right that it was a surreal moment. Aziraphale had spent so long denying himself, denying even the subtlest implication of a notion that may develop into a thought, that lying here naked with his best friend, his love, having just consummated that bond, was rather like a smack in the face. 

Oh, but it had been astonishing. For all that he enjoyed the fine things in life; a delicious meal, a well-aged bottle of wine, soft furnishings and comfortable clothing; he’d never felt the inclination to make love. Well, it least not in his conscious mind. And now at the end of the world they’d reached the final precipice and Aziraphale had thrown them over. There was no use in worrying over consequences when the worst already awaited them. 

Aziraphale felt his resolve strengthen. Damn the consequences. He wasn’t going to lose this now. He wasn’t going to lose Crowley, not when they’d only just gained each other. 

He pressed a pensive kiss to the top of Crowley’s head.

“Crowley?”

Crowley grumbled into his neck. He didn’t move. 

“I wanted to tell that I- Well, you already know of course, but I need to say it all the same. Surely I’ll burst if I don’t-“ 

Aziraphale stuttered off into silence, halting his rising hysteria. Crowley was completely still against him. 

_“What I mean to say is,_ well…I love you.”

Aziraphale swallowed, and waited for the fear to rise within him. It didn’t come. He smiled blissfully and repeat firmly, _“I love you,_ Crowley.”

Crowley sniffed, and raised his head. He made a show of rolling his eyes. 

“Right. Obviously. I mean, you wouldn’t just tumble into bed with any old stranger now.” 

Aziraphale tutted. Crowley kissed his chin. 

“I love you too, Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale felt his eyes getting wet, and he blinked away the tears before they could fall. 

“Oh…” he said. “Oh, my love.”

They kissed again, and this time it was steady and slow, charged with assurance and free of all doubt. 

When they broke apart, Aziraphale whispered, “My plan will work.”

Crowley smiled. “I know.” His smile turned to a grin. “Just make sure when you see the cesspool that Hell calls itself you don’t judge _me_ on it.”

“Oh, I would never. If worst comes to worst I’ll just imagine I’m somewhere much nicer.” Aziraphale got lost in his thoughts. _“Paris,_ perhaps. You remember those delightful crepes. Oh, or there was this _lovely_ private library in Yorkshire last century. Stacks of books, all piled up over each other, each one beautifully leather bound. All the classics of course, the owner wasn’t slack when it came to that. She bequeathed a few of them to me actually, although I was disappointed not to get her copy of Don Quixote.”

Crowley had propped himself up on his elbow, and he was idly tracing patterns over Aziraphale’s chest. He was smiling as he listened to Aziraphale. 

“Or…” he drawled, and suggestively slid his hand down to Aziraphale’s stomach, “you could imagine something even nicer than that.” 

Aziraphale blushed and smacked his hand away. “Oh, stop it!” He couldn’t hold back a small, embarrassed smile. “You devious serpent.” 

Crowley grinned, and Aziraphale saw the flick of his tongue behind his teeth. 

“It was rather satisfactory for a first go at it,” he conceded.

 _“Satisfactory? Satis-!?”_ Crowley looked at him in disbelief. “Angel, that was not _satisfactory,_ it was mind-blowing!”

“Oh, well I know you enjoyed yourself, dear, but _really-“_

“I meant for _you,_ Aziraphale! Honestly, I went through all of that torture for ‘satisfactory’.”

Aziraphale beamed. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling, and it was making his face ache. 

“Well, once all is said and done we can mix things up a bit, you know, get a bit creative.”

Crowley glared at him. 

“I’m sure you’ve tried a few different things, Crowley, don’t give me that look.”

Crowley tilted his head, still glaring. 

“May I remind you, once again, that unlike you I am lacking a _considerable_ amount of experience in this area and-“

“Angel, I haven’t had sex in _years.”_

“Oh? How long?”

An unidentifiable emotion flickered over Crowley’s face for a second. 

“Do you remember Petronius? The restaurant in Rome?”

“Oh, yes. We had oysters!” 

Crowley looked at him meaningfully.

“Oh…really? As long ago as that?” 

Crowley tapped his fingers idly against Aziraphale’s chest. 

“I thought tempting in that manner was something your lot look quite highly upon.”

“They do,” Crowley said, “and I did dabble in it a bit before.”

“Then why did you stop? You didn’t enjoy it?” Aziraphale’s face creased in concern, suddenly anxious about their earlier… _dalliance._

Crowley tilted his head in the way he did whenever he was about to say reveal something about himself.

“It seemed like a waste…to do it with anyone else.”

Crowley wasn’t looking at him, but Aziraphale was stunned into silence. Eventually, Crowley’s eyes flicked up to meet his, and he pursed his lips anxiously. 

“Oh… _oh,_ Crowley.” Aziraphale leaned in towards him, bringing his hand up to cup Crowley’s face.

“N-No, now Angel, _don’t_ go getting all emotional on me.”

“My dear, my love, I’ve been emotional about you for a very long time now, and I’m afraid you won’t be able to change that.” 

Aziraphale planted a sweet, chaste kiss on Crowley’s lips. 

“I love you so much, my darling.”

Crowley swallowed, and his nodded, then sniffed, and screwed his mouth up in that way he did when he was trying to force his face to behave. 

“Right. Well.” He nodded. “Yes.”

Aziraphale coaxed him back down into his arms again, and went back to stroking Crowley’s hair. Crowley eventually relaxed into him, and he insinuated one of his long legs between Aziraphale’s, lying half on top of him and throwing an arm around his waist. Aziraphale began to hum softly, and he decided a minor miracle was warranted when Crowley’s stereo flicked on, and began to play Tchaikovsky’s _None But The Lonely Hearts._

Crowley snorted after he heard the first few bars, and lazily waved his hand at the stereo, switching it to Tchaikovsky’s _Pas de Deux_ instead.

Aziraphale’s heart swelled, and he laced their fingers together on his chest. 

The music washed over them as they lay there, together. 

_Pas de Deux_ seamlessly floated into _Lake in the Moonlight,_ and then as Crowley’s breathing began to even out it softened into the beautiful melodic notes of Debussy’s _Clair de Lune._

 

Bonus Scene:

The stereo had long since faded away, and Aziraphale was resting in quiet contemplation as Crowley slept. He gazed at Crowley in sleep, appreciating the vulnerability on his face. The smooth line of his jaw was relaxed in his slumber, and his lips were parted the smallest amount. He really was beautiful. 

Aziraphale shifted to get into a more comfortable position, and gently rearranged Crowley’s legs around him, careful not to wake him up. His hand lingered over Crowley’s hip, and he considered the smooth, sinuous line of Crowley’s body. There was still something of the snake in him, he supposed, to allow him to lie so bonelessly, contorted in such odd shapes, to walk the way he did. Honestly, he could line every human on the planet up and no-one would be able to replicate that walk-

Oh. _Fuck._

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Aziraphale said.

Crowley startled awake. “W-What?” 

Aziraphale slapped the back of his thigh. 

“Get up. Get up!”

Crowley shifted on the bed, still half-asleep.

“What is it, Angel? Can’t it wait until morning?”

Aziraphale shook his head, anxiety riling him up.

“No! You have to teach me your ridiculous walk!” 

Crowley just laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> (I know there are typos galore and I will fix them tomorrow but it is 4am at the time of posting and I must sleep)
> 
> Aziraphale and Crowley love each other, and I love comments ;)
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @folieassdeux
> 
> p.s. Mr Sheen if you ever read this know that I love you


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